


The Matchmaker's Ball

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe- Everyone is Human, F/M, Legolas and Thranduil have some issues they need to work through, Legolas has anxiety, M/M, basically once a year the Valar throw a giant elaborate singles mixer, fluffy as hell with a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, the Valar saw that their children were spread too far and wide. So far apart and so absorbed with their own lives, the children of the Valar could not find their Ones, those whom they were created to be with. So the Valar created the Matchmaker’s Ball. One week a year, in the height of summer, a celebration is held. Anyone from any kingdom is invited to attend, from age thirteen to age thirty, with the goal of finding their One. It’s a week of chance, love, and fate. For Legolas, it might be a way out of the future his father set for him. In his final year of the Matchmaker’s Ball,  it becomes all the more important that Legolas finds his One. If he doesn’t, he will be forced to wed against his will in the name of continuing the family line. And he’ll be damned if he lets that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> In this au, everyone is human, and they all live in a modern version of Middle Earth. Everyone shares the same religion, praising the collective Valar, instead of each individual one for specific races. Much of the Valar's magic has faded away with time, but some of it still remains. Of course, ages and timelines have been messed with a little bit. Ages for our squad are as follows:  
> Legolas- 29  
> Tauriel- 29  
> Fili- 24  
> Kili- 22  
> Gimli- 21
> 
> There is an element of homophobia/non-acceptance in this fic, as well as discussion and description of anxiety, so if either of those things bother you, please be prepared for them.
> 
> Thank you to galadrielladyoflothlorien for the excellent beta!

Legolas had slowly begun to resign himself to the fate of marrying his best friend. Tauriel, thankfully, was putting up a much better fight.

“Tauriel, calm down. It makes sense. I need my dad to get off my back. You need to get your parents off your back. This is our last year for the Matchmaker’s. If you think my dad will let me see thirty without a spouse, you haven’t met him.”

“Oh, I’ve met him alright,” Tauriel growled, pacing around Legolas’ loft bedroom, eyes flashing in the late afternoon light. “Or have you forgotten I work for that no good, narcissistic son of a prick—no offence, Legolas.”

Legolas shrugged noncommittally from where he was perched on his windowsill. It was an open secret that the king and crown prince of Greenwood were one spat away from a civil war. Half the kingdom was expecting Legolas to resign from the lineage or for Thranduil to kick him out, if not both simultaneously. The people were divided on which side to take. For the most part, the majority of the younger citizens sided with Legolas while the older ones backed Thranduil.

Before Tauriel could work herself up any more, Legolas jumped in, “Taur, I know how my dad thinks. You’ve worked for him for like ten years. He respects you, if nothing else. And more importantly, he trusts you. He thinks your blood is good enough, and that you’ll produce some fine heirs in the future.”

At the murderous glance thrown his way, Legolas held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying what my dad thinks, not what I think. Anyway, I’d rather marry you than any strange princess, duchess, or lady my dad will eventually select for political reasons. It wouldn’t be so bad, right? We would both have our freedom, finally. Except we’ll be… living together. And photographed everywhere we go. And be expected to produce a horde of children.”

Legolas shuddered. “Nope. Never mind. Can’t do it. I guess you’re off the hook.”

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, a whole speech in that single look. It basically boiled down to ‘now you understand how stupid you sound.’

She sighed and boosted herself up next to her friend. After a moment of shared silence, she said, “Legolas, you usually do the exact opposite of what your dad wants you to. Why did you give up so easily about this?”

Legolas looked out the window and said nothing. Tauriel tugged a strand of his hair to get him to face her. “Legolas. Is this about the Matchmaker’s?”

He looked away, looking vaguely panicked.

“It is! Why? Is it because it’s our last year? Are you afraid you won’t find your One in time? Making a backup plan?”

“I….” he looked tense, like he was going to bolt from the room. Tauriel laid her hand on his wrist, firmly but comfortingly. Legolas sat back slowly, closing his eyes. Eventually, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m not worried that I won’t find my One. I worried that I will.”

Tauriel waited for him to elaborate, a lifetime of friendship telling her he wasn’t ready for her to say anything yet.

“You know how my father feels about…. you know. And even if I find my One, he will never allow it. And if I meet my One, it’ll be even harder to let him go when dad sends me away or marries me off. At least if I marry my best friend, I can be a little bit happy.”

“So, you thought marrying me and avoiding your One would be less painful in the long run,” Tauriel summarized.

Legolas nodded miserably.

She studied him for a moment, lost in thought. Suddenly she slapped Legolas on the back of the head. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to get his attention and convey her annoyance.  
“You idiot! That’s the worst plan you’ve ever come up with, including the one with the giant spider nest and your bow and arrow collection when we were nine!”

“Hey, that plan was your—”

“Don’t want to hear it! Your plan sucks and here’s why: your One is out there, hoping and praying to meet you. And my One is out there, hoping and praying for me. And I love you Legolas, I really do, but I deserve a chance at true love. And you do too, dammit!”

Legolas gaped at her. His level-headed friend wasn’t prone to outbursts like that. She stared right back at him.

Legolas deflated. “I know. It’s not fair to you. I might be able to talk my dad out of it. Well, the part concerning you, at least. I just…” he sighed and looked out the window.

“This isn’t fair to you, either,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Maybe I can talk him out of it.” Legolas said again dejectedly.

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty set on it earlier.”

\--

Earlier that afternoon, his father had summoned Legolas to his office—never a good sign—and Legolas had been more than a bit surprised to find their head of security waiting for him. He’d sunk into a chair warily, having a brief silent conversation with Tauriel.  He raised his eyebrows. _What’s up?_

 _Don’t know. Confused, like you,_ she shrugged minutely.

The King  cleared his throat importantly. Legolas snapped to attention out of habit, then scowled to himself.

“My son, as you know, you are no longer a child. The subject of your…. suitability must be addressed. I have let you carry on foolishly for far too long. It is time for you to settle down, have a proper family of your own.”

“Settle down? With who? It’s not like I have a—oh no,” Legolas said, cold dread seeping into his stomach, mixing with the anxiety already holding court there. “You want me to settle down with _Tauriel_?”

Thranduil smiled thinly, seemingly happy that his son had caught on so quickly.

“Dad. I can’t marry Tauriel. She’s my best friend, your employee! She doesn’t want to!”

“Any girl would be delighted to marry a future king,” Thranduil said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

“If even she wanted to marry me, I don’t want to marry her—Dad, I’m gay!” Legolas nearly shouted.

Thranduil, tone dangerously light, said, “I thought we had taken care of that nonsense, Legolas.”

Legolas stood, fists clenched and eyes burning. “It’s not nonsense. Or anything you can change. I’m gay. It’s who I am and no matter how much money you throw at specialists and doctors, they can’t cure me of it. I’m not broken.” He was red-faced from anger and the fierce ball of anxiety churned in his stomach.

He turned on his heel and strode for the door, needing to get away. Halfway out, he stopped. This…. this was one of the worst things his father had done. It hurt. So Legolas hurt him back the only way he knew how.

“Mom would have accepted me,” he spat. And then he left.

\--

Legolas groaned and buried his hands in his hair. “There’s no way we can get out of this!”

“Of course we will,” Tauriel said, absently patting his arm, her thoughts slipping into the depressing territory of What If? Their wedding would be televised for sure, the talk of the town. Greenwood was a small kingdom, comparatively, but it gathered a fair amount of media attention. These past few years of royal household tensions made Greenwood a paparazzi favorite. No one really knew exactly why Legolas and Thranduil were fighting (Thranduil had bribes coming out his ears), but more than one clever and often lawbreaking, personally invasive journalist had speculated the crown prince’s sexuality was the cause of the tension. Their wedding would put an end to such rumors, which seemed to be Thranduil’s intent.

It would make a good story, she mused. She’d give the old bastard that. Childhood friends, becoming lovers, unbeknownst to all until their final year of the Matchmaker’s Ball, when all seemed lost. Oh, and she’d been so looking forward to this year’s party. She had a good feeling about it. The magic finally felt like it might be there….

Abruptly, Tauriel sprang to her feet. Legolas jumped in surprise, her sudden movement jolting him out of his similarly dreary thoughts. She ran for the door without a word of explanation. After a moment of consideration, Legolas followed her out.

The door to his father’s study was cracked open. He could hear Tauriel’s voice from  inside and slid to a stop in front of it, deciding at the last moment not to enter. Hearing his father’s voice was enough to make him grit his teeth. He ground his teeth for a moment, took a deep breath and pressed his ear against the door to listen.

“--sir, I understand that the arrangement between your son and myself would be mutually beneficial. I know you want what is best for your son. You think this is the best option for him. I respectfully disagree. What Legolas needs is love. I cannot give him love in the way he needs. For him to be happy, you must give him a chance to find that on his own.”

His father’s answer came, slow and on the verge of annoyance. “And how do you propose my son find this happiness? This love?”

“The same place everyone is given a chance to find love and happiness. The Matchmaker’s Ball.”

He snorted inelegantly. “Legolas has gone to the Matchmaker’s Ball for more than a decade and it has done nothing for him. One more week of senseless partying will not help.”

Legolas hunched over slightly from where he was listening through the door.

“Okay, so if you don’t think this last Matchmaker’s Ball will make a difference, then it won’t hurt to let him go.”

The silence on The King’s end was not at all comforting. Tauriel tried another tactic.

“Okay. You’re a politician, right? You know the value of a good deal.”

“I do. What is your point?”

“I am willing to make a deal with you. You let Legolas attend the Matchmaker’s Ball, this one last time. If Legolas finds his One and declares it before the last night, you will honor that. You’ll let Legolas marry his One.”

“And if he doesn’t find a One, or whatever nonsense you young people believe in?”

“We will wed without complaint. Or at least, I will. I cannot speak for Legolas.”

A moment of consideration.  Legolas could feel his heart beating out of his chest in anticipation.

“Very well. You have yourself a deal.”

\--

There were a lot of unspoken rules concerning the Matchmaker’s Ball. No one had bothered to write them down, as they were passed on by word of mouth from family member to family member. Tauriel’s big brother had told her the rules before her first ball, and she had told Legolas in the car on the way there.

One, the Matchmaker’s Ball was not a game. It was not a place for one-night stands or casual hookups. Any and all romances that sprang to life there should be taken seriously.

Two, no one could talk about the magic. Everyone knew the Matchmaker’s Ball had been set up by the Valar near the beginning of time, to help their children find their intended Ones. Much of the Valar’s magic had long since faded from the world by now, but the magic of the Matchmaker’s Ball stayed strong.

In this week, people found each other despite all the odds. Relationships flourished quickly but they were strong and true. Each night seemed like days rather than hours. Conversations meant something, and something in the air made for good conversation. People found true friends, family outside of blood, and their one true loves that would last for the rest of their lives in that week. But no one dared discuss it too thoroughly, because the best way to kill any magic is to talk about it. Some things must remain mysteries in order to work.

Three: be absolutely certain of your One before declaring it. Almost all the real Ones lasted a lifetime and so every Match must be taken seriously. Announcing a One was the same as announcing an engagement. It was rare to declare a One after only knowing the other for a week at most, but there were a handful each year. Mostly, people used the week of nearly-guaranteed serendipity to find who they believed to be their Ones, but didn’t declare them until they had meet outside the Matchmaker’s Ball and dated for a while.

Four, if a One was found and it was true, no one could separate the two (or on some occasions, three). Neither gender nor station nor anything else could come between the Ones. Not to say it didn’t cause a ruckus when radical Matches were made— Tauriel had been too young to remember, but everyone knew the story of the current king of Erebor, Thorin Durinson, marrying an unassuming commoner from another kingdom.

Bilbo Baggins of the Shire had nearly tried to call off the wedding himself after finding out that Thorin was a king. Thorin had handled the situation with tact and delicacy not often displayed by the headstrong king, and called off the wedding. He and Bilbo took a month away, worked through some things. They came back, very much married and disgustingly in love. The media had thrown a fit that the king had eloped (more so that they’d missed it), but it seemed to work for Thorin and Bilbo. Now they had an adopted son (an orphaned nephew or cousin of Bilbo, if Tauriel recalled correctly) and their story was hailed as proof the Matchmaker’s Ball’s magic.

Tauriel was counting on unspoken rules three and four to save their asses. If Legolas could declare his One, Thranduil would have no choice but to honor that. As much as she secretly wanted to find her own One, Tauriel prayed to the Valar that Legolas would at least find his. If she found hers and he didn’t, he’d still be married off to the next available woman. But if he found his and she didn’t, well. She could live with that.

\--

The first night of the Matchmaker’s Ball was always uncomfortable. People were worried that the promise of magic wouldn’t live up to expectations. They were dressed in new, uncomfortable clothes and far from their homes and comfort zones. They worried about finding their One among the throng of thousands. Legolas knew from experience that everyone would mellow out by the time midnight rolled around. Until then, it was always awkward and nerve-wracking.

As always, the Matchmaker’s Ball mansion was breathtaking. The huge estate on the coast of the western sea lay empty most of the year. The month before the party itself, the mansion’s wrought iron gates swung open. People from all over the country and every kingdom came flocking in to clean and prepare for the week of mayhem. By opening night, the huge ballrooms and winding hallways would be sparkling clean and festooned with decorations. The enormous kitchen was well-stocked, staffed by a hundred-odd volunteers who would cook, serve, and clean for the thousands of attendees. It was an honor to be picked for entertainment. There were dozens of auditions before the twelve or so bands, orchestras, and DJs were selected.

Those chosen would rotate between the twelve huge ballrooms throughout the five nights. Each ballroom held between one and two thousand people. Youth from all over the country came to celebrate. Every person between the ages of thirteen and thirty received an invitation, but not everyone came. Nearly everyone came, one year or another, and a good chunk came every year they could afford it. It was tradition, a rite of passage, an integral part of the whole country’s culture.

Legolas lived only an hour or so from the mansion itself, and had only missed one year, the year he traveled abroad. He surprised himself by missing the hot, crowded rooms and loud music. Although he had never met anyone who could be considered his One, he had met many good friends there and even his first boyfriend. (He was fifteen. They started going out the week after the Matchmaker’s Ball ended and broke up two weeks after that).

The region of the country that his kingdom belonged to was lucky enough to receive an outer ballroom. (Anyone could travel between rooms at will, but most everyone stayed close to their region. The only constant exception was the minor rooms, which took only thirteen through seventeen year olds. They were not allowed to go into the older rooms). Legolas liked this room because it wasn’t as warm as the inner ballrooms, wasn’t as crowded, and had the added bonus of being half outside. The dance floor spilled from the marble floors of the room to the immaculate grass of the sprawling front lawn.

The edges of the garden were lined with beautiful trees, perfect for climbing. Legolas immediately found a perch in the boughs of a young apple tree, away from the throngs of people. He tucked himself in, picked a fresh apple, and set in to observe.

Dusk was darkening the sky, which meant that the (obligatory) first dance would soon begin. Legolas glanced around with more purpose, trying to locate a possible partner. He would’ve danced with Tauriel, like he usually did, but that was exactly what his father would want him to do. Besides, she had slipped off, greeting some old friends from her days at the Academy and now he had lost track of her. So his gaze swept across the milling crowd, looking for likely candidates. A group of giggling early-twenties girls were eyeing him from across the lawn. He sighed, tossing his apple in a nearby trash bin, and swung down from his hiding spot before they could work up the courage to approach him.

And just in time he noted, as the orchestra began tuning up. He examined the nearby people with more focus now, wanting to avoid an awkward dance with a star-struck girl thrilled to be dancing with a prince.

He made eye contact with a similarly quietly panicky guy a few yards away and raised his eyebrows in question. The man nodded and trotted over, a friendly smile on his face. He was a little shorter than Legolas and had disheveled brown hair and a scruffy almost-beard. His tie was already undone and he looked supremely uncomfortable in his well-cut suit. “Thanks,” he said, grabbing Legolas’ hand as the music started in earnest. The traditional waltz, Legolas noted, and gave thanks for his dancing lessons. He was surprised when the stranger took the lead and hastened to find his balance with his new partner.

“I was worried I wouldn’t find anyone to dance with. My name’s Kili,” the stranger added.

“Legolas,” Legolas replied, nodding.

Kili’s eyes widened. “Oh, shi—I can’t believe—” He shook his head, a heavy blush staining his cheeks.  “I’m so sorry, dude, I thought you were a lady.”

Legolas snorted. “You’re not the first to make that mistake. I’m sorry to have unwittingly deceived you.”

Kili studied his face closer, recognition lighting his eyes. “Wait, I know you! Your dad is that bastard Thranduil! Fuck! I-I mean. Sorry.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Legolas said dryly. Kili laughed appreciatively.

“Hey, that means you’re Prince Legolas. Cool, I’m a prince too. Second in line for the throne of Erebor, after my brother.”

Legolas nodded in understanding. Kili had looked vaguely familiar. It was pretty common for royalty to attend, often without an entourage or even security guards. Many kings and queens had found their Ones here. He knew that there was some bad blood between his family and the king of Erebor, but Kili seemed content to ignore or possibly just disregard it, so he did the same.

At that moment, Legolas heard Tauriel’s chiming laugh as she swept by in the arms of a blonde man. He was frowning in concentration, trying to keep up with her elaborate footwork. Kili groaned. “Oh, of course Fili managed to land a dance with _her._ Naturally.”

At Legolas’ inquisitive look, Kili said, “I’ve been trying to get that red-headed goddess’ attention for eight years. It’s just my luck my brother would end up dancing with her.”

“Who, Tauriel? I could introduce you if you want.”

“What?” Kili squeaked, face paling comically. “No! But, like, yes!”

Legolas laughed at the torn expression on his partner’s face, deciding it would be entertaining if nothing else.  
The dance came to a triumphant close and Legolas immediately dragged Kili over to Tauriel. Apparently, Kili’s brother had the same idea, because he was leading her to them.

Introductions were made, Tauriel’s significantly more intelligible than Kili’s. Legolas watched his friend’s face carefully. Years of constant company made it easy to pick up on things others would miss. For instance, when Kili bowed theatrically over her hand and brought it up to his mouth for a brief kiss, she calmly quirked an eyebrow. But Legolas saw her mouth twitch into a hidden smile and she took his arm without hesitation, so he knew she liked him more than she would admit. Legolas watched as they left the garden part of the ballroom to join the growing crowd on the dance floor proper. The orchestra had moved to the far side of the garden, to a small pavilion with its own tiny dance floor. The DJ took up court and soon the thump of bass filled the air.

That left Legolas and Fili awkwardly standing together. Just as Legolas was about to excuse himself and hide in another tree, a man walked by. Fili waved at him, obviously relieved.

“Hey, Gimli!” he called. The man turned around, smiling. He was surprisingly short, but solidly built. His long red hair was pulled into a tidy braid, matching the braids in his impressive beard. He had an eyebrow piercing, tattoos peeking from his collar and snaking down to his wrists, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to the elbow. His brown eyes were warm and kind and a genuine smile split his face.

Legolas felt his ears go red. The lumberjack build had always done things for him. It was just so different from his own lanky paleness. It wasn’t that Legolas was weak—the combination of martial arts, archery, and dance had left him with his own brand of wiry strength—but the raw power contained in corded forearms, wide shoulders, and broad hands never failed to make his heart flutter. And the bad-boy touch of a piercing and tattoos matched with the obvious kind nature of the man? It was all a little too perfect, too much like a fantasy of just the kind of man he always wanted.

Legolas found himself fumbling for words and ended up staring dumbly at the newcomer while he and Fili exchanged greetings. Fili clapped the man’s back one last time and said, “Legolas, this is my cousin, Gimli. Gimmers, this is Legolas. He’s Thrandy’s son.”

“Don’t hold it against me,” Legolas said, finding his words again. To his horror, they came out too-sweet and his mouth curled into a flirtatious smile quite of its own accord. Before Legolas could work himself up into a fit of anxiety, Gimli gave him an easy smile and shook his hand.

“As long as you don’t judge me for having idiot cousins,” he returned. “You’ve known them for what? Half an hour? Plenty of time for you to know what I’m talking about.”

Fili make an indignant sound, but Legolas just said, “Who, Fili and Kili? Kili was a perfectly adequate dance partner, if a bit confused by effeminate men.”

Gimli laughed, warm and hearty, and Legolas felt a strange swoop in his stomach. Oh dear. He hadn’t had butterflies for years. And just as they had when he was a teen, their presence made him feel sweaty and nervous and vaguely like bolting from the room.

“He has the worst luck with that, I swear. He gets more dances with lads than I do, and he doesn’t even swing that way,” Gimli was saying.

“Oh?” Legolas said, letting the unspoken ‘and you do?’ hang between them. Gimli scratched his head, flushing pink, but he didn’t drop his gaze from Legolas. Not a confirmation or a denial, then. But if the way Gimli was looking him up and down was any indication….

Legolas returned the gaze with matching intensity. Fili glanced between the two, eyebrows shooting up. “Okay, I’m just gonna…. go over there. Good to see you, Gimli.”

Gimli nodded, eyes never leaving Legolas.

“So…” he said conversationally, “how are you liking the Matchmaker’s?”

Legolas shrugged. “It’s very much like all the others I’ve attended. This is my last year, but I don’t think I’ll miss it too terribly much.”

“Your last? I wouldn’t have guessed you were that old.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m twenty-nine,” Legolas said, gripped suddenly with the fear that Gimli was much younger than he looked.

The question must have shown on his face, because Gimli said, “I’m twenty-one.”

Roughly an eight year age difference. That was… a little unsettling.

“But I’m mature for my age,” Gimli added with a wink. Legolas blushed despite his best efforts not to. _Stop that,_ he told himself. Gimli was a male, obviously, and undoubtedly a Durin as a cousin of the heirs to Erebor, two strikes against him. That, coupled with their age difference meant that Legolas had no hope of Matching with him. Even if with Tauriel’s deal in place, he knew his father would find a way to never allow it. He’d be kicked from the house, maybe even the bloodline. And he didn’t even know if Gimli was gay. So this rapidly-developing crush thing was a Very Bad Idea. _Stop this nonsense before it begins,_ the rational part of his brain insisted, the part that sounded uncomfortably like his father.

Gimli offered his arm. “Would you care to accompany me to dinner?” he asked.

Legolas took his arm.

_What. Are you doing._

“I would love to.”

_You utter fool._

\--

Legolas couldn’t remember a Matchmaker’s this fun. The food was so delicious (as usual) that he didn’t even mind the large press of bodies around him. The night was cool and clear, with a full moon adding its cool light to the warm glow of the lanterns lining the garden. But what really made the night was the company. After a little initial awkwardness, Gimli proved to be witty, intelligent, and charmingly funny. He snorted at Legolas’ vegetarian plate from the buffet, his own plate piled with at least four different cuts of meat. There was a small pile of green beans in one corner, but no other vegetables. “No wonder you’ve got no meat on your bones, if you never eat any!”

“At least I make an effort to be healthy.”

“You think I don’t see that plate of dessert you’ve got? Don’t be preaching healthy eating to me if you’re eating your weight in treats, laddie.”

Legolas shrugged. “I’m planning on dancing this all off later tonight, so it doesn’t count.”

“A dancer, are you? What, ballet?”

Legolas sniffed, feigning offence. “As a matter of fact.” He broke into a grin. “Yeah, I’ve taken dance for twenty-some years—and karate, and judo, and archery, and a whole pile of other ‘applicable life skills’.” He made a face, imitating his father’s voice.

Gimli nodded in understanding. “I hear you. As a cousin and good friend of the princes, I took swordplay lessons with Fee and Kee, and some dance as well. And don’t get me started on court etiquette.”

“We must be breaking at least five dining etiquette rules at this very moment.”

“Let’s see: more than one plate at a time, dessert before main course, elbows on the table, talking to only one person and not the room at large, wrong fork, and complaining before the third course.” Gimli shook his head in mock disappointment. “We should be disowned.”

Legolas’ smile turned sour. He tried to wipe the look off his face before Gimli could notice. Really, that little throwaway sentence shouldn’t have thrown him as much as it did.  Gimli grimaced. “Foot, meet mouth. Sorry lad, I see I hit too close to home on that one.”

“No, it’s fine,” Legolas sighed. “Just having a spat with my father.” He shook his head, forcing a smile back in place. “But like you said, no complaining before the third course.”

Gimli set down his (incorrect) fork. “You can tell me to screw off if you want to, but do you want to talk about it?”

Legolas took a gulp of fruity wine to buy some thinking time. Normally, he only discussed these things with Tauriel. Sharing with strangers was a bad idea, especially something as personal as this. But Gimli was looking at him like he really cared what Legolas felt. And Legolas was tired of not talking about it. And he was sick of his father’s stupid behavior. He took another drink of wine and set down his glass with more force than necessary.

“My father would be less appalled with my dinner manners tonight and more so with the company I’m dining with.”

Gimli growled, “Line of Durin not good enough for him?”

“No—well, actually, he would think that, but I meant that he would be upset that I’m dining with…. a man. Not a woman.”

Gimli stilled, understanding in his eyes. “He’s one of those types, is he? I’m sorry for that, lad.” He placed one broad hand over Legolas’ slender one. Legolas felt a burning behind his eyes. Which was embarrassing. Gimli didn’t prompt him to speak again, simply let their hands rest together. Legolas took a deep breath and said, “He wants me to marry Tauriel.”

“Is she the redhead running Kili ragged on the dance floor?”

“Yeah. She’s my best friend. This is her last year, too. She thinks we’re magically gonna pull our Ones out of thin air and avoid this whole mess. Made a bet with my father about it, too.”

“If it’s any comfort, Kili has been ready to propose to her for five years. Maybe longer.”

Legolas smiled wanly. “Yes, I got that impression. I hope it works out for them. She deserves to be happy. She deserves better than me.”

“Surely you’re not that bad, lad.”

“I could never love her like that. Even if she wasn’t the wrong gender for me, she’s always been like a sister. Not that my father will care, if I leave this week without a One.”

“Ach, I know that song and dance. My own folks are trying to pull together a political marriage for me, if I don’t find my own One in the next few years.”

Gimli knocked back his wine and continued, “While I’m not royalty in the strictest sense, my father is a noble and a good friend of the king. I believe I am ninth or tenth in line for the throne. Which I’m not at all interested in. My Mom always said I had a courtly manner, but I can’t find it in myself to care about the ins and outs of politics. I imagine it’s worse for you, lad, being the crown prince.”

“I suppose I’m used to it. Besides, my father married young and had me young. He has many, many years of ruling left before I have to worry about the throne. If I don’t abdicate or get disowned before that.”

Gimli nodded, looking unsure of what to say. His hand was still resting on top of Legolas’. Legolas had to stop himself from doing something dumb, like lacing their fingers together.

“Well, since we’re already pissing off your dad anyway, what do you say to a dance?”

“I think that’s just what I need,” Legolas said.


	2. The Second Night

Legolas woke the next morning (afternoon) with a throbbing headache and aching muscles. He and Gimli had spent nearly the whole night on the dance floor. Around four AM, he, Gimli, Tauriel, Fili, and Kili plopped themselves down at a table for a break. And then a drink. Or three. Kili foolishly challenged Tauriel to a drinking contest, and so obviously the whole group had to get in on it. (Legolas won. Probably. He blacked out near dawn. The last thing he remembered was slamming back yet another shot, his collection of shot glasses one ahead of Gimli’s).

He stretched and groaned at the popping and cracking in his back that resulted. Beside him in his bed, someone moved. He froze, cold panic in his chest, but it was only Tauriel, fully dressed albeit rumpled. Her hair was a tangled mess and her makeup was smeared comically around her eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” he yawned to cover the pounding of his heart. For an instant, he thought he’d done something supremely stupid last night. But the panic was abating as quickly as it had come. Oh well, at least he was awake now.

Tauriel glared weakly at him. “I had to carry you back.”

“Sorry?” He stood and stretched again, relishing the feeling of stiff muscles softening. “Other than that, how was your night?”

“Fine,” she said lightly, but her cheeks were pink.

Legolas grinned and yanked her out of bed. “So you do like him!” he exclaimed. “Has my precious Tauriel found her One, at long last?”

“I don’t know,” she said, an unusual shyness creeping into her voice.

Legolas dropped his teasing manner and looked at her closely.

“Really? I was just kidding.”

She threw a pillow at his head. “Well, what about you? You and that Gimli boy looked pretty cozy.”

“What! We weren’t cozy! He—I wasn’t trying to—I don’t even like him!”

“Sure,” Tauriel said, drawing out the word. “I could tell that you absolutely detested him. Especially when you lovingly caressed his face after he passed out.”

“I didn’t do that!” Legolas insisted.

Tauriel held up her phone triumphantly. “I have proof!”

Legolas lunged for the phone. After a brief scuffle, he came out on top, Tauriel’s phone clutched in his hand. There was a video. Heart sinking, he selected it.

_“Shh…” Video Legolas said. He giggled drunkenly. “Shh, Gimli’s sleeping. Don’t wake him…”_

_Legolas ran one finger down Gimli’s nose. Gimli snorted in his sleep, shaking his head slightly. Legolas giggled even louder. He stroked Gimli’s face gently, hands eventually landing in the mane of red hair, long escaped from its braid. “Shh, he’s asleep! Look—look at him. Pretty. Pretty good dancer, pretty good listener, pretty good drinker. And just pretty. Pretty? No, handsome. Pretty. No. Beautiful. Yeah, pretty.”_

_Video Legolas picked up a shot glass and drained it. “We’re drinking contest. I’m winning. Winning!”_

_He slumped over, snoring before his head hit the table, one hand still tangled in Gimli’s hair. The person videotaping laughed softly and zoomed in on Legolas’ face. “And there you have it. Legolas is a sappy, lovey-dovey, drooling drunk.” Tauriel’s voice said, only slightly slurred._

“I didn’t know you had such a way with words,” Tauriel teased, taking back her phone.

Legolas hid his face in his hands. “Get rid of it,” he moaned. “Destroy it. Please.”

“Nope!” said Tauriel said cheerfully. “I’m keeping it! Legolas, it’s been ages since you’ve had a crush! This is great.”

Legolas didn’t respond. Tauriel sighed. “Look, Legolas. I know you have this thing about commitment and that you’re scared of Thranduil is going to react. But this is good for you, okay? Is it so hard for you to admit that you like Gimli? Would it be so bad if he was your One?”

“I don’t know, Taur. I just don’t want to get ahead of myself. Because if I convince myself he is, and then he’s not… I don’t know.”

“Look, I can’t tell you if he is your One. I wish I could. But I can tell you that you both looked really happy to be around each other. And that I haven’t seen you smile that much in months. And that you said his name in your sleep at least four times.”

Legolas sighed, face downcast. Tauriel tried one last time. “Hey. Maybe he’s your One. Maybe he’s not. You know how the Matchmaker’s works. Whatever happens, happens, and it usually happens to turn out just fine. Just have fun this week, okay? Go with the flow.”

Defeated, Legolas nodded. He cracked a small smile. Tauriel cheered and threw a clean shirt in his face.

“Alright then! Let’s get you cleaned up. We’ve only got a few hours to get you all pretty for your new boyfriend!”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Legolas called after her as she headed for the door.

“Yet!” she called back.

\--

The Matchmaker’s Ball drew everyone—from royals to nobility, all the way down to the simplest farmer in the smallest village. About half of the attendees brought one suit or dress and wore that all five nights. Another portion brought two or three changes of clothes. But if you came from money, were royalty, or really, really wanted to catch a match, you wore new clothes every night. The previous night, Legolas had worn a plain black suit with a white dress shirt and a Windsor knot tie. He’d looked like a younger version of his father and he hated it. When he emerged from the shower, considerably more clearheaded and calm, Tauriel was waiting for him.

All of his suits were pre-approved by the king, but he managed to sneak some ties that he knew his father would hate. Tonight’s suit was a boring charcoal grey, but he wore it with a pale green shirt, a darker green tie patterned with silver leaves, and (most daring) an ear cuff. It was silver, a trail of delicate leaves wrapping around his ear.

His father didn’t even know his son had his ears pierced when he was sixteen. His long hair hid the small silver hoops he usually wore. Today, Tauriel put two slender braids on either side of his temples and pulled them back, exposing his ears. She secured the two braids together with a simple silver clasp.

Tauriel, for her part, was wearing a suit. She’d always worn a suit to the Matchmaker’s, and didn’t like dresses as a rule. (Possibly why Kili had mistaken Legolas for a woman. He and Tauriel were built quite similarly). Her suit was black and grey pinstripe, with a dark purple shirt.

“Now we look presentable,” she said, adjusting Legolas’ tie. “Go knock him dead.”

Legolas blushed, fixing hers as well. “Same to you.”

\--

Legolas entered the ballroom, more nervous than he had been the previous night. He and Tauriel were running late, and so the room was mostly filled. He slipped off to hide his apple tree, but found it occupied by a young couple who looked very cozy together. He made a face in their general direction and turned around, and immediately ran smack into someone else. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t looking,” he said, at the same time the guy he ran into said, “Hey, Legolas, I was just looking for you.”

“Oh! Gimli, hello,” Legolas said, genuinely thrown. He wasn’t really expecting to run into Gimli, not literally and not so soon after arriving. The Matchmaker’s Ball mansion was so large that you really had to try to run into someone at random. Unless Gimli had been actively seeking him out. That idea made Legolas’ cheeks warm. “Hi,” he said again, for lack of better conversation. Oh, Valar, Gimli was wearing a proper suit tonight and it fit him very well. He cleared his throat.

“Hi,” Gimli said. “How are you?”

“Still a bit hung-over,” Legolas answered truthfully. Gimli laughed. “Aye, I’ll be staying away from the bar myself.”

They stood in semi-awkward silence for a few moments. They were both relieved when the first strains of music drifted through the air. It wasn’t the popular dance music from the DJ’s floor, but warm-up chords from the small orchestra in the pavilion.

“Want to dance?” Legolas asked. Gimli nodded fervently. By the time they fought their way through the crowd to the pavilion, the orchestra was well warmed up and halfway into a piece. It was energetic and loud, and the twenty or so parsons of the dance floor stomped and clapped in time with the music. It was a style of dance Legolas wasn’t familiar with, but Gimli seemed right at home.

He spotted his cousins on the floor and immediately waded in to join them. Legolas watched him spin and turn around the moving bodies, falling into the place others had made for him. The music picked up its pace and the crowd cheered. Gimli whooped along and stomped his feet. The dancers broke into a dizzying crisscross pattern that Legolas could hardly follow. He watched with growing disbelief. Surely this had been choreographed beforehand? It was simply too seamless to do done by a handful of strangers.

The music swelled and crashed around them, even louder and even faster. Legolas caught sight of Gimli as he whirled past, stepping in time in the arms of a smiling dark-haired woman. He bowed and kissed her hand, releasing her back into the throng of people. She was quickly replaced by another young woman who laughed at Gimli’s attempts to make conversation as they flew about the dance floor. Partner after partner caught Gimli’s hand, until the song finally wound to a close. Some of the winded dancers sat down on the spot to catch their breath, clapping and whooping for the orchestra. The floor cleared out and filled again as the orchestra began another piece. Gimli reappeared, flushed and breathless, next to Legolas.

“Why didn’t you join in, lad?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to… do that. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, I’ll teach you, then,” Gimli said, grabbing his hand. The hesitation must have shown in Legolas’ face because Gimli laughed. “What’s wrong, Mister I-Took-Dance-for-Twenty-Years?”

“I took dance, yes, but I took ballet and ballroom dances. Nothing like—whatever that was!”

“Really? It’s quite popular in my kingdom. In any case, it goes like this…”

And Gimli began leading him through a ridiculously complicated series of steps. Legolas proved to be nimble on his feet, but couldn’t remember the order in which the steps went. After a half hour of fumbling, he shook his head. “I don’t think I’m going to get it. I’m sorry, Gimli.”

Gimli shrugged and sat down next to Legolas. “Oh, well. It was fun to teach you.”

They sat in silence, watching the dance floor, which had emptied a bit. Presumably its patrons had left it behind for the modern dances offered in the ballroom proper. “Hey,” Legolas said, “isn’t that Tauriel and Kili?”

The two were engaged in a quickstep on the pavilion floor, and taking up a good chunk of it. Others had fallen back to give them more room to move. Gimli smiled. “Kili always was a good dancer when you convinced him people weren’t watching him. Fili’s better of course. Got better technique, but less passion for it.”

Legolas watched his friend whirl around the dance floor. She was very good. He absently wondered where and when she had taken lessons. That train of thought was abruptly cut off as Gimli took his hand. Legolas looked at Gimli in surprise, but Gimli was totally focused on watching the dance. The slight redness in his cheeks gave him away, however.

Legolas fought back a smile and allowed their fingers to thread together. It wasn’t like last night, when Gimli was offering wordless comfort by placing his hand over Legolas’. It wasn’t even like the past half hour, when Gimli had taken his hand to teach him that impossible dance. This was… new. Legolas liked it.

They sat like that, connected by their hands and both trying very hard not to make eye contact when stealing glances at the other, until Fili plopped down beside them. Legolas jumped, almost yanking his hand from Gimli’s. Gimli kept a tight hold, however, and Legolas relaxed back into it. He glared at Fili.

“Hullo,” said the intruder cordially.

“What do you want, cousin?” Gimli growled.

Fili pretended to be hurt. “What, do I need a reason to visit my favorite cousin and his special friend? Gimli, I’m surprised at you. How could you ever be so cruel?”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. “What.”

“Nothing! I just thought you might like to know that the first Match has been announced,” Fili said innocently.

They both jumped up at once. “Really?” Legolas asked as Gimli said, “Why didn’t you start with that? Where?”

They ran for the main ballroom, Kili and Tauriel abandoning the pavilion to follow. The first Match of the year was always exciting. It gave energy to the party, reminded people why they were there. Plus, each newly announced Match meant a fresh (free) round of drinks.

The DJ had brought the happy couple up on stage. The ruggedly handsome man introduced himself as Aragorn and the absolutely gorgeous woman beside him introduced herself as Arwen. Legolas recognized them as the couple who had been so comfortable together in his apple tree. He cheered along with the crowd, suddenly unable to hold the tree-stealing against them. Presumably that was where one of them had asked the other to declare.

“Didn’t waste any time, did they?” Gimli shouted above the din, still clapping heartily. “Second night and we already have a Match!”

Kili shouted back at him, “I think it’s romantic. If they know they belong together, why should they wait?” He was not-so-subtly gazing at Tauriel, who was pretending not to notice him staring at her.

Gimli put a hand on Kili’s shoulder, looked him very seriously in the eyes, and said, “Kili, my dear friend and beloved cousin. You are a sap.”

Kili didn’t bother arguing. After the ceremony, their group left the rambunctious dance floor in favor of a table near the buffet. When everyone had settled in with their plates of food, conversation inevitably turned to Match stories. Everyone has a story from the Matchmaker’s Ball, whether it be from a friend or a family member.

“You know,” said Fili, starting off the stories, “our cousin Ori met his One here last year. Unusual, it was, because his One wasn’t even attending. Ori was twenty-four; his One was thirty-five at the time. Dwalin, a cop, was called in after some particularly rambunctious party-goers got drunk off their asses and started a brawl. He had guard duty for the rest of the week, and spent most of it mooning after the shy young man who brought him food, drink, and company periodically throughout the night. They up and declared at the last second on the final night. You should have seen Ori’s brothers! They had come to pick him up from the party and found him Matched to a complete stranger, more than a decade older than him! They threw a fit, did everything they could to put an end to the match. But of course, they were too late.”

Kili sat up, excitement lighting his face. “I can top that one! Fee, how could you forget our dear old mum? She had the best Matchmaker’s story ever!”

Fili waved a hand. “Go for it, bro.”

“Okay, so our mum was a late bloomer, in the romantic sense. She never had any interest in finding her One, or the Matchmaker’s or any of that stuff—kinda like Fee. Her parents worked out an arranged marriage with a neighboring kingdom. The guy wasn’t anything special, just a noble who needed a wife. Anyway, the marriage was arranged, the date was set, and everything was in place. Except Mum hadn’t even met the guy. She didn’t even know his name. So the Matchmaker’s rolls around and Mum’s friends convince her to go, just for one night to see what the fuss was all about.

“They get her all dressed up and sneak her out. And Mum has a pretty good time. She meets a friend of a friend, this really cool guy named Vili and they hit it off immediately. And so she goes the next night, just to see this guy again. And the next night. And so on, until Mum decides that she’s made a terrible mistake and that her true One is Vili. Except, what can she do? The marriage is already set. There’s no backing out of it now. So she refuses when Vili asks to declare a Match with her, breaking the guy’s heart. They part in tears, probably. A month later, at the wedding, Mum is still down in the dumps about Vili. She walks down the aisle, ready to face a loveless marriage for the rest of her life. She makes it to the front of the church, and there is Vili, beaming at her!”

Legolas, who had been taking a drink, nearly choked. “No way!”

“Yeah, crazy, right? Mum’s told us that story so many times,” Fili said nostalgically.

Gimli lifted his glass, gesturing at Legolas and Tauriel. “Did any of your parents meet here? Mine didn’t—childhood friends.”

Tauriel nodded. “Mine did. Pretty standard story. They met, didn’t declare, but I came along nine months later.”

“How about you, lad?” Gimli asked.

Legolas set down his drink. “No. It was an arranged marriage. My father never attended the Matchmaker’s. He doesn’t believe in Ones.”

“Ah,” Gimli said into the awkward silence. “How about your mother, then? She a believer?”

Tauriel made a subtle but frantic chopping motion across her neck. Legolas slammed back his drink and stood up. “Well, she’s dead, but I don’t recall her saying anything about it, one way or another. Excuse me.”

As he left, he heard Gimli ask what he said wrong. He walked faster, determined to get out of earshot before he heard Tauriel’s soft, pitying reply.

He glared at anyone who dared approach his tree. It was devoid of happy couples, thankfully, and he swung up into it. There was a niche, higher up than he’d gone before that looked perfect to sulk on. Softly, he thunked his head against the rough bark of the bough next to him. That was a stupid thing to do. Gimli didn’t know any better. There would always be someone who didn’t know any better, or who was tired of tiptoeing around the issue. He needed to get a hold of himself.

It wasn’t his fault, the sulking part of him whispered. His father never talked about Mom. Never let him talk about Mom. It was a terrible accident, and she was dead, and that was it. No need to dwell on it, his father told him time and time again. Time and time again, Thranduil had brushed off his crying son because it was simpler for him not to deal with that.

So Legolas had slowly stopped crying about it, at least in front of his father. In place of tears, he began to get angry. Any mention, any reminder of his mother made the anger boil in his stomach. Anger at his dad, at himself, even at his mother. He knew it was childish and unhealthy. He knew he needed to get past it. But he just couldn’t do it.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He banished them angrily. He was not going to cry about this, he was not going to cry about it. He remembered the split-second look he’d gotten of Gimli’s shocked and vaguely hurt face, and of Tauriel’s tiredly cautious one. He thought about how he’d sounded—cold, aloof, detached. Just like his father.

He cried about it.

\--

It was a small time later when he noticed someone was standing under his tree. He risked a glance—the lamplight glinted dully off reddish-gold hair.

“Go away,” he told Gimli.

“Do you really want me to? Because I will, if you do.”

“Yes. Please go away,” Legolas said quietly, hating himself.

Beneath him, Gimli sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Legolas,” he said, and left.

\--

An hour later, Tauriel came to collect him. “Done with your hissy fit?” she asked, easily scaling the tree to sit beside him.

He glared at her, the effect diminished by his red eyes. “Yikes,” she said, handing him a pack of tissues.

He blew his nose grumpily. “Thanks,” he muttered. “And I’m sorry.”

She knocked his shoulder with one of hers. “Hey, I’m used to it. A few of your new friends down there aren’t. If anything, you should apologize to them.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No. Not my place to.  I just told them your mom’s passing is a sore subject for you.”

“Thanks.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you want to leave? We can, you know.”

“I think so. But I’d rather go alone.”

“Are you sure?”

Legolas gave her a dry smile, already sliding down the tree. “Very.”

She sighed. “Okay, but call me if you need anything. And there’s a hurt and overly-apologetic young man waiting at the table you stormed away from. You might want to go talk to him.”

Legolas saw Gimli sitting at the table and immediately felt a wave of regret. Gimli was staring into his mug of beer, deep in thought. He was frowning. Legolas’ fingers twitched to smooth away the lines it made between his eyebrows.

“Hey,” Legolas said, hating that his voice cracked on the word.

Gimli looked up, startled. He shot out of his seat, a rush of words flooding from him. “Legolas! Lad, I am so sorry. I had no idea about your mother. I never would have brought it up if I knew. It was stupid of me, I know. Please forgive me, I promise I will never bring it up again.”

Legolas bit his lip. “No, Gimli, it’s my fault. I overreacted. It’s my fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I disagree, lad. I upset you, which is very much my fault.”

“Don’t be stupid, you just asked a simple question. I was the one who got all bent out of shape over nothing.”

Gimli frowned, obviously putting together another argument. Legolas held out a hand. “No, please stop apologizing.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m… just going to leave. Sorry again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waved halfheartedly at Gimli and started to walk away.

“Wait,” Gimli said, catching up to him. He hugged him and released him just as quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Legolas.”

Legolas managed to stay composed enough leave the premises of the mansion. Once outside and away from the crowds, he sat down against a wall and hugged himself, trying to recreate the warmth of Gimli’s arms around him, smiling stupidly. Still smiling, he pulled out his phone and texted his driver to come pick him up. While he waited, his brain replayed the scene. Did he imagine the bashfulness on Gimli’s face? The lingering touch on his back after the hug? By the time his driver arrived, Legolas had managed to calm his heartbeat to a reasonable speed, but the smile persisted.

 


	3. The Third Night

Legolas woke the next morning feeling odd and out of sync with the world. He had lived long enough with anxiety to know that this was a warning sign of a Bad Day. “Not allowed,” he hissed to himself, pulling on some workout clothes. “You said you would see Gimli today, so you’re not allowed to have a bad day.”

He repeated this mantra to himself as he walked to the basement workout room, stretched out, as he ran a mile and practiced with his bow. He was still muttering it when Tauriel came to find him.

“Don’t you have work to do, Taur?” he asked.

“Nope. Got the week off. I guess your dad wanted to get in my good books in case I’m his future daughter-in-law. Speaking of, Leggles, did you make up with Gimli last night?”

“I think so. We both apologized. I think we’re okay.”

“Okay….” Tauriel said, sounding skeptical. “Gimli seemed kind of out of it the rest of the night. He left less than an hour after you did.”

Legolas shrugged. Tauriel nudged him, suddenly teasing. “I guess he was only hanging out with us to get with you. Once you left, what’s the point of sticking around?”

“I doubt that.”

Tauriel rolled her eyes. “Come on, Legs. It would take a blind man to miss how he looks at you. And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way, because I can read you like a bad romance novel. You’ve got ‘swooning lovelorn hero’ written all over you.”

“I’ve known him for three days, Tauriel. Not enough time to be lovelorn or swooning.”

“Oh, you’ve really got to get over that fear of commitment, Legolas. The point of the Matchmaker’s is to fall in love. Two nights of Matchmaker’s is like two months of real-world time. Plenty of time to fall in love. Or at least fall in like.”

Legolas kept his eyes firmly on his bow. “Maybe a little. But he probably doesn’t feel the same way. In any case, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into with me.”

Tauriel looked at him for a moment before realization dawned on her face. “Bad day, huh?” She asked sympathetically. Legolas shrugged.

“Gonna be able to go tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

\--

He was very much _not_ fine. The crowded ballroom, which had only been the source of a minor twinge in his stomach the past two nights suddenly made him feel shaky and sick. Everyone was looking at him—he shouldn’t have worn the green suit. It was too flashy and looked terrible. Someone to his left laughed and he froze. What were they laughing at? _Not you,_ he told himself firmly. _Probably not you.  Calm down, their friend just told a joke, not about you. Probably._

He decided food would be a good option. Safe. The line for the buffet was long and he saw no one he knew in it. He got in line anyway. Ten agonizing minutes later, he picked up a plate—and almost dropped it. He fumbled with the soup ladle and accidentally spilled some on his suit. Face burning, he stepped out of line with his half-empty plate and slunk over to an abandoned table. Had it always been so hot in here? So crowded?

He hunkered down over his soup, not tasting a drop of it. Dully, he wondered why he even came to this stupid party. _To see Gimli,_ he reminded himself. _Yeah, to see that guy you have a crush on that probably totally hates you or is only pretending to like you. Remember how you blew up at him last night? Even if he did like you before, he hates you now. Idiot. You mess up every good thing that happens to you._

His breath started coming in short gasps, his hands shaking. The prickle of tears threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed back his chair and bolted for the front doors. Head down, he wound through the mass of people, their voices sounding like white noise in his ears. Ten feet from the exit, he pushed through a small group of people, past the point of caring about manners or anything else. He thought he heard one say something to him, but continued charging for the door.

Outside the double doors of the mansion itself, he pressed himself against the brick wall, still warm from the day’s sun. He’d ended up in a shallow alcove, just small enough to press in on him from both sides. He slid down the rough brick until he was sitting and pulled his legs up to his chest. Getting small helped. Less to deal with if he was all curled up. He tried to take deep breaths but his lungs weren’t cooperating.

]The breathing devolved into panting again and he pushed down a wave of nausea. He dropped his head onto his knees, letting the shakes take over. If this attack was consistent with all the others he’d had (and he was always consistent) the shakes would be joined with tears, which would run for ten minutes. After that he would be exhausted and emotionally fragile, but otherwise okay.

Suddenly, a quiet voice said, “Legolas?”  Legolas’ head shot up, swiping at his eyes. Gimli was crouched down next to him, looking concerned and far too close to him.

Legolas jerked backwards, squishing himself even further into his alcove. Gimli took the hint and shuffled back a few paces. Cautiously, he laid a warm hand on Legolas’ shoulder. To his surprise, Legolas didn’t feel the need to flinch away. He leaned into the touch, feeling slightly more grounded for it.

“Do what I do,” Gimli murmured. He took a deep breath, counting out to four slowly with the fingers of his free hand. Legolas did the same, fingers twitching rather than unfolding all the way. Gimli held his breath for seven long seconds, and let it out over the course of eight more seconds. He—and Legolas—repeated the pattern twice more. Gimli nodded in approval.

“Cry,” he said, “you need it.”

Legolas blinked rapidly, but the tears fell anyway. Gimli kept his hand on Legolas’ shoulder but averted his eyes. Legolas tried to speak once but Gimli shook his head. “Wait until you’re ready.”

His fingers had pins and needles. The only warm part of him was Gimli’s hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he scooted closer to Gimli. Gimli’s arm gently curled around him, carefully placed so that Legolas could shove it off if he wanted to.

Legolas wiped away the worst of the tears and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. The party was too much. I got…” he trailed off, blinking away the second wave. Gimli waited patiently.

“I got overwhelmed,” Legolas said, once he had control of his voice. “Why—how did you find me?”

“You pushed right past me, trying to leave. I know it wasn’t my place to follow you, but it’s always a little easier with someone else nearby.”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks. I know a few tricks.”

“Mine are anxiety. Thank you. It was… helpful.”

Gimli seemed to know not to push a lot of questions on him at once. He spoke in a quiet, even voice.

“Meds?”

“No. I should, but no.”

“Water?”

“No. Don’t want to go back in.”

“I can get it.”

“Don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.”

Legolas felt the shaking return. That happened sometimes, if he didn’t let the second round of tears out. He felt numb and detached, the muggy air sticking to his skin. He moved closer still to Gimli, who thankfully seemed to know what he wanted.

“Do you want a hug?”

Legolas could barely push the word through his tight, waterlogged throat. “Please.”

Gimli, who apparently knew to do exactly everything correctly, let Legolas control the hug. Legolas knew he was probably squeezing too tight, but Gimli didn’t complain, only lightly held onto Legolas. Present, but not overbearing. His shakes subsided slowly, but without any further incident of tears.

Legolas heaved a big sigh, knowing the worst of it was past. He disengaged from Gimli who opened his arms easily. Legolas knew his face was red. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for putting up with that.”

“Legolas, I didn’t put up with anything. I chose to follow you out here.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

“You can go back to the party, if you want.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Not go back in there, for sure.”

Gimli nodded. “Is there anywhere you usually go after an attack? I always go to my father’s jewelry shop and hide in the back room.”

“There’s a coffee shop a little ways from here. I usually go there.”

Gimli stood up, brushing off his pants. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Legolas frowned. “Wait-- us? But, the party… you left early last night on my account. I don’t want you to miss another night.”

“The party is the constant it’s always been. You’re the variable that I care about in this equation.” He gave Legolas a hand up. “Now, where is this coffee shop of yours?”

“I—you don’t have to do this for me.”

“Who says it’s for you? I think it’s for me,” Gimli said jovially. His smile dropped off for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me to come along. I understand if you don’t.”

“No, I want you to. But only if you want to.”

Gimli smiled again, brighter this time. Legolas realized he hadn’t dropped his hand after helping him up when Gimli gave it a squeeze. “It’s settled, then.”

Gimli led him toward the vast parking lot out back of the mansion, stopping in the motorcycle section.

“This is my darlin’,” he said, indicating a shiny black motorcycle. “Arod, I call her. Let me just…”

He dug around in the under-seat storage place, coming up with a helmet. He gave it a quick rub with his sleeve. “There,” he said, gently plucking it on Legolas’ head. He climbed on, patting the space behind him. “I’m assuming you haven’t driven a motorcycle before, so I’ll be driving. Is this okay?”

Legolas blinked. “Uh. Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t you have a helmet?”

“You’re wearing it, laddie. Don’t worry, I’m a very safe driver.”

Against his better judgment, Legolas slid in behind Gimli. It took a moment to find his balance on the leather seat.

Gimli started the engine, putting one foot down to keep them in place. “Okay, just hold on to me, alright?”

Legolas immediately complied, wrapping his arms around Gimli’s stomach.

“Oof! Well, you won’t be falling off, that’s for sure,” Gimli muttered. “Okay, which way am I going?”

\--

The coffee shop that Legolas frequented was a twenty-four hour, two story café-slash-bookstore that occasionally had small name bands play in the basement. He had found it in his rebellious teen years when he’d stay out all night. (Even as a rebel, he was cautious, and this café was safe, discreet, and always let a tired prince crash on one of their couches). The barista on duty tonight was the son of the owner. He was quiet and polite but funny when one could convince him to speak.

“Evening, Pri—I mean, Legolas,” he said. Legolas gave him a small smile.

“Hey, Sam.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can I have some herbal tea and a few lemon cookies?” Legolas asked. Sam was already moving to get his order before the words were out of his mouth.

“And you?” he asked Gimli. Gimli glanced over the menu. “Black coffee for me, please. What are Lembas?”

Legolas snorted. “The densest shortbread cookies you’ll ever eat. Eating one is like an entire meal.”

“I’ll take two,” Gimli said.

Sam had their order together in record time. Gimli carried the tray while Legolas dashed upstairs to his favorite spot, a small booth on the second level by a large bay window.

They were the only ones in the shop, aside from Sam. Most of its patrons were of Matchmaker’s age, and Wednesday nights were slow to begin with. Legolas poured himself a mug of tea from the pot Sam had sent up with them. “I can see why you like it here,” Gimli observed, taking in the dark wood floors, the squat bookshelves filled with not only books, but other curious odds and ends. Legolas looked fondly at the little shop. “Yeah, I like it.”

“How are you feeling?” Gimli asked.

Legolas shrugged. “Tired. Wrung out. So, pretty normal for after an attack.”

“Let me know if you need to leave. I can take you home.”

“I don’t really want to go home.”

“Why not? Not trying to pry or anything.”

“My father will want to know why I’m not at the party. And he doesn’t understand the anxiety thing, so I can’t explain it that way. And…” He sighed.  “Home feels constricting right now. You know?”

“I suppose.”

Gimli let the subject drop. Instead, he talked about anything else. Stories about growing up next to Fili and Kili. Legolas nearly snorted tea out his nose at the description of an elaborate prank that ended badly for the princes but just fine for Gimli. He returned with a story of the first prank he had pulled with Tauriel, right before she started working as a guard for his family.

Their talked ranged from siblings (a younger sister for Gimli and none for Legolas, no matter how much he might wish for one), plans for the future, stories of the past, favorite books, favorite movies, favorite music. Hours after his tea was gone, Legolas felt his eyelids drooping. He yawned hugely in the middle of a discussion about his favorite fantasy novel series and Gimli stood up. “You’re falling asleep on me, lad. Time to go home, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Legolas said, half-asleep. “I’m okay. I like spending time with you.” But he allowed Gimli to lead him down the spiral staircase. Legolas waved goodbye to Sam, who nodded back. The rush of cool air woke him up a little and he disentangled himself from Gimli. The ride home went far too quickly. Gimli dropped him off a block from Legolas’ mansion. “I keep forgetting you’re a prince,” Gimli murmured, gazing up at the brightly lit castle-esque building.

“I’m not, really. I’m just me,” Legolas said quietly. “The prince part doesn’t matter to me.”

He sighed, soft. “Thank you again.” He hugged Gimli goodbye, trying to keep it short, but Gimli held on to him longer than he had expected. Legolas didn’t pull away either.

“I’m glad that we were able to…. that we could—I thought maybe it was just a Matchmaker’s thing, but,” Legolas stumbled over the words. “I mean, I was worried the—whatever the Matchmaker’s does—I was worried that it wouldn’t work outside the party.”

“I know what you mean, Legolas. I’m glad, too.”

Legolas cleared his throat and stepped back.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” Gimli asked.

“Yeah, I should be okay. I’ll meet you by the apple tree on the front lawn? You know the one?”

Gimli nodded assent. “Goodnight, Legolas.”

“Goodnight, Gimli.”

 


	4. The Forth Night

“Good evening, Gimli.”

“And to you, Legolas.”

They grinned at each other. Legolas felt totally at ease, which was a relief. Whatever had happened last night had connected them somehow. They weren’t strangers flirting cautiously at the Matchmaker’s Ball anymore. At the very least, they were friends now. Legolas felt closer to Gimli for the handful of hours they’d spent in a midnight café. He was quite sure Gimli felt the same.

He felt Tauriel’s eyes boring into him. She’d dragged the story from last night out of him that day by holding his clothes hostage. He’d had to chase her around his room, clad only in a bathrobe before he’d given up and spilled.

“You had an attack? Why didn’t you find me?”

“I couldn’t. I had to get out of there, and then Gimli was there. He helped.” Legolas had given her a quick summary of the night (leaving out the hug outside his house. It wasn’t anything huge or scandalous, but it felt private. It was their moment).

Legolas took Gimli’s hand, decisively ignoring Tauriel’s smug smirk.

“Where are we going, Legolas?” asked Gimli, looking quite amused.

“I’ve missed two whole nights’ worth of dancing. We’re making up for it tonight.”

Gimli shrugged. “Lead on, then.”

It had been fun to watch the intricate dances in the pavilion that second night, but tonight Legolas felt drawn to the thumping bass and bubbly vocals on the DJ’s floor. There was a healthy-sized crowd already, enough that it was easy to slip in, but not so many that it felt overly crowded. Legolas grinned at Gimli and jumped right in. He had a knack for technique dancing, ballet and modern in particular, but this he knew how to do, too. His anxiety left him in peace and he was grateful for that.

Song after song slipped by. Legolas was kind of surprised that he knew almost all the songs by heart—he was quite sure he’d only heard them on the radio a few times. Gimli caught his eye a few times, never failing to wink or smile at him.

This was what the Matchmaker’s Ball had always been in the past—just letting go of his worries for a night of dancing. The difference was that in the past, the only friend he’d really had here was Tauriel. It was nice, to dance with a group of friends for once.

Just past eleven, the stream of energetic pop anthems faded into something different. Legolas recognized the slow piano music as from a recent blockbuster “chick flick”. He and Tauriel had seen it together, both cried over it, and made a pact never to tell anyone else about it on pain of death.

He threw a “remember that” face toward Tauriel, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was holding out her hand to Kili, who looked comically panicked. After a split-second of terror, his face softened to something so open Legolas looked away hurriedly. When he gathered his courage to glance back at them, they were drifting around in small circles, engrossed in the other’s eyes.

Legolas decided to give them their privacy and turned to slip off the dance floor. Before he could take a step, Gimli cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Legolas. Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

He looked perfectly composed but the slight quaver in his voice gave him away. Not trusting his own voice, Legolas nodded. He took Gimli’s hand—and laughed at the relieved rush of air that left him.

“Were you worried I was going to refuse you?”  
“Perhaps a little, lad.”

Legolas and Gimli hadn’t really danced together before. They had danced in the same area, to the same music, but with no partner work and certainly not as intimately as this was.

It was a bit awkward at first, both of them trying to lead. After a moment of confused shuffling, Gimli relinquished the lead to Legolas. They started out with a respectful distance between their bodies, one that grew smaller with every step they took. Any semblance of choreographed steps turned into rocking back and forth in a slow circle, closer than Legolas had hoped.

Gimli’s hand, carefully placed in the center of Legolas’ back slowly slipped down the small of it, pulling them closer still. He didn’t quite feel brave enough to meet Gimli’s eyes, so he rested his cheek against the crown of Gimli’s head instead, sighing inaudibly. He could feel Gimli’s heart beating against his chest, rapid fire. He smelled like sweet cologne and the tang of sweat and something earthy he couldn’t quite place.

Legolas knew the song was drawing to a close—it wasn’t a particularly long song—but he hoped beyond reason that it would keep going just a bit longer. The last notes faded away and a quivering crystalline thread of silence stretched over the room. No one moved or spoke in an effort to keep the strange peace for a moment longer.

The thread was abruptly shattered by the start of another song, back to the peppy pop they’d been happily dancing to before. Couples disengaged, some more regretfully than others. Legolas and Gimli hadn’t pulled completely apart. Gimli’s eyes were warm and inviting. Very slowly and not feeling like he was in control of what he was doing, Legolas leaned down. Closer. At the same time, Gimli was pushing himself up on tiptoe. Closer. Until they were a breath’s width apart. Legolas could taste the wine they’d drunk earlier on Gimli’s breath. He took a small breath. The exhale brought them closer still. His eyes slipped closed. He could feel the comfortable warmth of Gimli’s hands pressing against his back.

Behind him, someone laughed.

Legolas pulled away from Gimli quickly, determined not to check for the source of the laugh. “I need some air,” he muttered, and bolted.

\--

He went straight to his apple tree. He scrambled up to the lowest branch, breathing deeply,  cursing himself for running away. When he opened his eyes, Gimli was standing below him.

“This is a familiar scene,” Gimli said, trying to keep his voice light. Legolas dropped his face into his hands.

“I’m sorry, Gimli. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Hold on a mo, lad. I’m coming up.” Gimli boosted himself up, struggling to find a grip. Legolas moved over a bit to give him room, but Gimli scooted right next to him, their legs pressing together.

“Public displays of affection aren’t your thing, I’m guessing,” he said in that same carefully lighthearted tone.

“No. I suppose it’s because I’m used to hiding it. My father, like I told you before. He wouldn’t approve in any sense of the word. So I just panicked on instinct. I’m sorry.”

Gimli hummed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About us, lad. About what would happen if we acknowledge that the Matchmaker’s might be working its magic with us?”

Legolas pressed his lips together to stop the smile that threatened him. He’d accepted, sometime between last night and right now, that Gimli might be his One. But he’d had no way of knowing that Gimli felt the same way, no matter what Tauriel said. Gimli’s words filled him equally with childlike joy and nervous panic. For a couple of reasons. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering.

“I think we _should_ talk about it. I mean, first of all, it’s quite confusing. I’ve only known you for, what, four days? But I feel like—I don’t know. I do know that my father will never allow it. I’m talking about getting kicked out of the house, optimistically.”

Gimli stayed quiet. Legolas studied the stars, clearly visible despite the light pollution from the mansion. He absently wondered if it was just another component of the magic of the Matchmaker’s. Maybe the Valar thought people would fall in love easier if it was under the stars.

“And beyond my father--” Legolas started, then stopped. No, he told himself, don’t be a coward. Be honest. He cleared his throat. “Beyond my father’s disapproval. I’m scared. I’ve always been a coward about the possibility of meeting my One. I didn’t want… it was just simpler not to think about it. It was a blessing to never meet you—my One. I always thought that if I didn’t meet my One, I’d never have to deal with losing him. I always thought if I met him, I would be able to ignore how I felt. But then I met you. And now, I just don’t know anymore. I want to run away from all of this. But I also don’t want to move an inch further from you.” He sighed, looking away. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

Gimli didn’t respond for a moment. Finally he said, “Legolas, I’m going to ask an honest question that needs an honest answer.” He paused, and Legolas nodded slowly.

“May I hold your hand?”

That was so unexpected, Legolas turned back to face Gimli. Gimli’s face was composed and serious.

“May I hold your hand?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Legolas said, baffled.

Gimli carefully threaded their fingers together. “How do you feel about this?” he asked. “Be honest, now.”

“I feel… warm. Embarrassed, a little.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

“No.”

Gimli nodded. After a moment, he said, “I’ve always dreamed of meeting my One. The first year I attended the Matchmaker’s, I was sick with nerves. Couldn’t dance or talk to anyone or anything. No matter, I didn’t meet my One that year. Or the year after that. Year after year, I didn’t meet them. I started to doubt I had one. I started hating the Matchmaker’s. It was a cruel mockery, to hand me the chance to meet my One and never fulfill that promise. I wasn’t expecting anything different this year. But then Fili waved me over, and there you were, standing there as red as a tomato. Suddenly, I was thirteen again, sick with nerves.”

“You hid it well,” Legolas murmured.  

“Hush, I’m telling a story. Everything was going wonderfully. I was flirting, you were flirting back. Everything continued to go wonderfully, until the next night when my big mouth ruined everything.”

Legolas made to interrupt but Gimli held up a hand. “I’m still telling a story, lad. I thought I had ruined everything, when you stormed off like that. Knowing that I hurt you, even though I didn’t mean to—I’ve never felt so terrible. I could hardly breathe. But I apologized and you forgave me. And even though you left right after that, I could breathe again. I think that was when I realized you might really be my One.” Gimli’s eyes were bright, and he ran a hand over his face, chuckling. “I had a point for this story, I’m fairly sure.”

Legolas gently took the hand covering Gimli’s face, unable to find any words.

“How do you feel about this?” Gimli asked, indicating not only the double-hand-holding, but the situation as a whole.

“A little nervous,” he answered truthfully.

Gimli pulled his hand from Legolas’ grasp to lay it gently on his cheek. Slowly, he leaned in, giving him plenty of time to pull away. Legolas breathed deeply, content in knowing that they were away from the crowd and the music and anyone who might judge them. He gave Gimli a soft smile, to encourage him. Still, Gimli hesitated.

“Legolas, can I…?”

Before he could even finish the question, Legolas brushed their lips together. “Yes,” he breathed.

Gimli nodded, kissing him just as softly. “Good.”

Gimli leaned in again, but Legolas pulled away, giggling.

“What’s all this then?” Gimli demanded, looking uncertain.

“Your hands are sweaty,” Legolas said, grinning widely.

“Well, I’m sorry! Not my fault this has been a stressful few minutes,” Gimli said indignantly. Legolas collapsed into another wave of giggles. Gimli raised a faux-impatient eyebrow.

Legolas finally managed to squeak out, “My hands are sweaty, too.”

Gimli started laughing, too. It wasn’t particularly funny, but they laughed anyway. Breathless and gasping, Legolas leaned against Gimli. Gimli took his face in his broad, sweaty hands, kissing him properly this time. Legolas’ hands moved up to tangle in Gimli’s hair. Gimli’s hands migrated as well, from his face down to his waist. They kissed sweetly, savoring the moment. Until someone started clapping and whistling below them.

Legolas pulled back so fast that he almost lost his balance. For one horrifying moment, he thought they would both fall out of the tree. He managed to correct their balance and keep them both seated.

Kili called up, “I’m proud of you two! I was wondering when you’d get it on!”

Legolas hid his face in Gimli’s shirt, knowing he was crimson red. Gimli called back, “Yeah, how about you? We’ll all be old and grey before you pluck up the courage to lay one on Tauriel!”

Instead of responding to that, Kili settled for making a rude gesture in their direction.

Gimli collapsed against Legolas with laughter. Legolas kissed him again, swallowing his laughter.

\--

Later, as they were admiring the stars, arms wound around each other, Gimli murmured, “Does this mean you want to declare a Match with me?”

Legolas sighed against Gimli’s temple.

“I want to say yes. But… I want to be completely, one hundred percent sure. And right now I’m only about ninety-five percent sure. Besides, I need to work things out with my father. If we are going to Match, you’ll be dragged into the mess of my life. I want to clean it up as much as possible before then. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, lad. I don’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. We don’t even have to declare, we can just start dating and go from there.”

Legolas stayed silent. What could he say? He wanted to declare, he really did, but there was still that nagging five percent that wasn’t so ready to dive into a future with a man he’d just met four days ago.

Gimli took his silence the wrong way. He leaned away from Legolas a bit. “Unless I’ve been reading this whole thing incorrectly,” he said, a glint of worry in his eyes.

Legolas grabbed his hand—the broad, strong hand that had captured his attention that first night. “No!” he insisted. Then, quieter, he said, “I was just… I just need some time to think about—everything. I’ll have sorted it all out by tomorrow. I swear to the Valar, tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay, lad,” Gimli chuckled, lacing their fingers together again. His face shifted to something a bit more mischievous. “Then I have until tomorrow to help convince you to choose me.”

He kissed Legolas fully, taking him by surprise. A second later, he pulled back. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. Is this alright?”

Legolas brought their lips together again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gimli muttered, grinning wide enough to break the kiss.

“It’s a yes. Now stop fooling around and get back to it,” Legolas said, his smile matching Gimli’s.

 


	5. The Last Night

The next morning, Legolas woke feeling distinctly like a child on Christmas morning—happy, excited, with a small flutter of nervousness in his stomach. But it was the pleasant kind of nervousness—the kind the preceded something wonderful. The mental counter in his head had ticked upwards between the end of the party and falling asleep in the midst of reminiscing the evening, ending up somewhere near ninety-seven percent.

He leapt from his bed and danced around the room. While he rushed through a shower and pulled on some clothes, the mental counter ticked up to ninety-eight. He threw open the door and nearly ran into Tauriel. She held up her hands, blocking him from leaving the room.

“Whoa, there, sunspot! I was just coming to get you. The king has asked you to join him for breakfast.”

Legolas started to object. Tauriel threw him a look. “He made it very clear you are not to decline. But if you go down there grinning like an idiot, he’ll know something’s up. As much as it pains me to say it, try to go back to regular broody Legolas, okay?”

Legolas scowled.

“That’s more like it!” she exclaimed, clapping him on the back. Her back pat turned into a half-hug and she said seriously, “Legolas, it’s been so great to see you so happy again. I’ve missed that about you lately.”

“I know. I’m sorry you have to put up with so much of my shit.”

“Hey, what are best friends for? Now, go have breakfast with your old man. And try not to kill him.”

\--

Legolas knocked on the large pine door to his father’s breakfast room. A servant opened it quickly and ushered him in. The maid pulled back a chair across from the king’s.

Legolas nodded his thanks and began filling his plate. He and Gimli hadn’t left their tree either to get something to eat or to the bar (unlike the rest of his group). The downside was that he was famished but the upside was that he wasn’t at all hungover and so could eat whatever he wanted without fear of getting sick. The king let him eat in peace for a full five minutes.

After the silence had stretched on for what he must have considered long enough, he said, “Legolas. We have not had an opportunity to speak with one another this week. How is the Matchmaker’s Ball this year?”

“It’s fine. A couple already declared, so the pressure is off for the rest of the party.”

His father leaned forward, setting down his silverware. “I see. Have you made any new friends? Have you met anyone?”

“Do you want the truth or what you really want to hear?”

“I… excuse me?”

“I said do you want the truth or what you want to hear? I know you won’t like my answer if it includes a guy, and it’s sure as hell not going to include a girl. Kinda off the menu for me. Why do you ask if you know you won’t like the answer?”

“I—I just want to visit with my son! Why do you assume there’s an answer I want to hear?”

“Dad, you always have an answer you want to hear. For instance, right now you want me to tell you that I met the most wonderful girl and that we’re ready to declare a Match. Isn’t that what you want to hear?”

Suddenly angry, Legolas pushed back his chair and slammed his hands against the table, glaring at his father. Years of pushing down his feelings for his father’s sake and years of lying about he felt bubbled up inside him. It bubbled up, and boiled over.

“Well, too bad! I’ll never find a girl to settle down with! You’re never getting an heir from me! I’m gay! I like men, and I might even love one! Yeah, I did meet someone, and he’s a guy, too! And I think he’s my One!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt their certainty. He was one hundred percent sure now. Despite the tense air, despite the outburst and the thunderous look on the king’s face, Legolas started laughing. Through slightly maniacal laughter and the deep hack of an unexpected sob, he said, “I found my One, Dad. I found him and I love him and we’re going to declare a Match together!”

He was gripped with the childish urge to say ‘so there!’ but managed to contain it. Instead, he just smiled at his father, whose face was slowly growing redder and redder. The king took a deep breath, and in a dangerously calm voice, he said, “Legolas. You are grounded.”

“What? You can’t ground me! I’m twenty-nine years old!”

“And yet. Grounded. You live—”

“If you say ‘under my roof and so under my rules’ I swear I will disown myself.”

“Legolas, you don’t mean that!”

“Yes, I do! I’m so tired of your rules! I’ve lived under your rules my whole life! Your rules suck! I barely leave this fucking castle, you barely let me go to college! Your rules make me go see quack doctors who try to fix what’s not broken! Your rules are why Mom is dead!”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Do not bring your mother into this.”

Legolas was too worked up to listen. He rounded the table and strode right up to his father, anger hot in his veins.

“Even when I was a kid! All you did was try to make me into the perfect little prince. You didn’t let me have fun, or friends, or go anywhere without a bodyguard. You made me take lessons, do my schoolwork, take more lessons, day in and day out. Mom saw how much it was hurting me. Do you know why she was driving that day? I told her I wanted to run away! I told her the only thing wanted was to get away from you! So she took me. We were going to go camping. We were going to spend the weekend together, away from the court and the castle and you. I was going to do whatever I wanted! I was going to eat junk food and stay up past my bedtime and play games with Mom! She insisted on driving, because her son wanted to be normal for a little while, without limos or chauffeurs. And then—and then—”

Legolas broke off, tears streaming down his face. “You ignored me. In the hospital. I had a broken leg and a concussion. Seven years old. I cried and cried for my mommy, my daddy, for hours. Seven fucking years old, and my mom was dead. And you sat there. You sat there and looked right at me and you didn’t see me. You haven’t seen me since.”

Legolas let his fists fall to his sides, the fight draining from him. His father clenched his jaw, his own hands working into fists. With one shaking finger, he pointed at the door. “Leave. Now. I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s away from here.”

Legolas slammed the door behind him.

\--

As soon as the door was shut, he sat on the floor and let the tears fall. Tauriel, who had been waiting outside, flew over to him and threw her arms around him. “Shh,” she murmured. “Shh, honey, it’s okay. You’re alright…”

She continued whispering comforting words in his ear as he shook with sobs. She rocked back and forth, comforting Legolas, her brother in all ways but blood. When his tears finally slowed to a point when he could talk, he said, “Get me out of here. Please, Tauriel.”

Tauriel didn’t ask any questions. She ushered him out and into her own small, energy-efficient car. Twenty minutes later, Legolas was sitting on her couch, wrapped in a rose patterned blanket and holding a cup of tea, all without memory of how any of that happened.

He felt numb, kind of weightless, but there was a strange muted sense of elation tugging at the back of his mind. He idly wondered why as he stared into the warm mug in his hands. The tea was overly steeped, but he made no move to take the teabag out of the mug. He opened his mouth to say something—what he wasn’t sure—when Tauriel’s phone rang. She cursed under her breath and left the room to answer it. Legolas heard her hiss, “Kili, what?”

A pause.

“It’s not the best time right now. Legolas, he…” she glanced at him, lowering her voice enough that Legolas couldn’t hear.

After a few minutes, she reentered the room, pressing her hand over her phone. “Legolas? Kili wants to know if Gimli will make this better or worse?”

Legolas frowned, thinking it over. “Better,” he decided. Tauriel looked relieved that he had responded.

“Yeah, come over,” she said into the phone. Legolas straightened up from  his slouch. After everything else, he had almost forgotten his revelation about Gimli being his One. Gimli would want to know about that. He took a bracing sip of strong, lukewarm tea.

He and Tauriel sat in silence until the door burst open and Kili, Fili, and Gimli came crashing in. Gimli ran directly to Legolas, who had stood up at their sudden entrance. They stood face to face for a long moment, both breathing deeply. Legolas felt fresh tears welling up in his eyes and held out his arms. Gimli immediately crushed him in a bear hug.

“I’m so sorry, lad. Tauriel told us what happened. Well, some of it at least.”

“My dad kicked me out,” Legolas said mechanically, feeling the need to relay this information directly to Gimli. Gimli hugged him tighter.

“I know, Legolas. I’m so sorry.”

“I made him mad. I told him… everything. About my mom. About you. I told him that you’re my One. Did I tell you that?”

Gimli stilled, and then very slowly shook his head. “One hundred percent?”

“One hundred percent.”

Legolas pulled back, surprised to see tears in Gimli’s eyes.

“One hundred percent,” he repeated.

Legolas kissed him, finally breaking out of his mental fog. The issue of his father was pushed to the back of his mind and the joy of it all hit him. He had found his One!

To her credit, Tauriel managed to let them have a moment before she butted in.

“Boys, I hate to break this up, but there are a few things that need to be dealt with, and soon.”

Gimli grumbled good-naturedly but easily sat next to Legolas on Tauriel’s couch, holding his hand. Tauriel began doing what she did best, and made a plan of action. She paced for a moment, scribbling a list of things on a pad of paper. She said, “Okay, Legolas, the first thing you need to do is find a place to stay.”

“He can stay with Fee and me,” Kili said, while Gimli said, “He’ll be more than welcome at my house,” and Tauriel continued, “of course it makes most sense for him to stay at here.”

The four of them looked at each other. Tauriel puffed up. “I’m his best friend, he’s going to stay with me. No, don’t say anything, Gimli. I don’t care if you are his One; he needs someone who’s known him longer than a week.”

Gimli looked offended for half a moment. Then he sighed. “You’re right. Legolas, is that okay with you?”

Legolas shrugged. It was true that he was familiar with Tauriel’s house. It had always been a second home to him. It’d be more comfortable than a house he’d never been in before.

Tauriel nodded and said smugly, “Okay, next order of business. We need to get some things from the house. Just some essentials—clothes, money, that sort of thing.”

“The house? Like, my house?” At Tauriel’s nod, Legolas raised an eyebrow. “How’s that going to work? It’s not like my dad will let me waltz in the front doors.”

“I’m the head of security, remember? If anyone can break into your house, it’s me.”

\--

“This is stupid! We’re going to get caught!” Legolas hissed, glaring at Tauriel. She smirked at him, whipping out a pocket knife to jimmy the window open. She, Legolas, and Gimli were perched precariously in a large tree near the third floor of the building just after dark. Tauriel didn’t want Gimli to come along for fear of getting caught, but Gimli assured Tauriel that he was lighter on his feet than he looked.

“You didn’t think it was stupid that time I caught you sneaking that boy in through this window,” Tauriel teased.

Legolas glanced at Gimli for a second, mortified. Gimli, for his part, just looked entertained at their exchange. “Tauriel! That’s the problem! You caught me!”

“Well, we’re not getting caught this time,” she promised, popping the window open completely. They slipped in quickly. They managed to sneak through the hallways and up to the top floor without running into anyone. It was a close call, a few times. Tauriel’s sharp hearing saved them a floor away from their destination, and she shoved them into a nearby room.

“What are you doing here, Tauriel? I thought you were off tonight,” a young female voice said. Tauriel adopted a light and airy tone, one that Legolas had secretly dubbed ‘the bullshit voice’.

“Oh, I do. I just wanted to check something before I took off. The cameras have been acting up again, so I was just going to fix it up for the night shift.”

“Good thinking. Well, see you sometime. Are you going to the Matchmaker’s Ball tonight?”

“I don’t think so. The last night is always crazy, you know.”

The other woman laughed. “That it is. Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” Tauriel said cheerfully.

Inside the dark sitting room he and Gimli had been unceremoniously shoved in, Legolas softly cursed. “I forgot that it’s the last night of the Matchmaker’s Ball! We won’t be able to declare. I’m sorry, Gimli.”

Gimli shook his head. “Hush. Don’t worry about it, love. Just knowing you would’ve is enough for me.”

Legolas felt a rush of affection and relief. Instead of voicing it, he settled for kissing Gimli lightly. Gimli returned the kiss enthusiastically, just as the door swung open. They broke apart to find Tauriel standing in front of them, tapping her foot.

“If you’re quite finished,” she said crisply. Legolas started to splutter out an explanation. She held up a hand. “Nope. Let’s just move on.”

Properly chastised, they slid from the room, narrowly missing being caught by the slamming door. Tauriel ushered them up the last flight of stairs, looking only mildly cross. Legolas threw her an apologetic look, which she ignored.

Legolas stepped into his room, mind already calculating what he would need to grab—

“Legolas.”

They all froze. Slowly, carefully, Legolas turned around. There, sitting on the edge of his rumpled bedspread, was the king. He looked very out of place there, Legolas’ circlet held loosely in his hands. Legolas rarely wore the damn thing, but he knew it had been a gift from his mother, many years before. That was most of the reason he let it sit, gathering dust on shelf year after year. Legolas noted with surprise and some alarm that the king’s eyes were red.

“Dad,” he said flatly, startled into speech.

His father rose, letting the silver circlet fall from his hand. It hit the floor with a small metallic ring and rolled away. He approached his son, very slowly and carefully. About five feet from him, he stopped short.

“Legolas…” he said. “I did not… this morning, I… when I said…” he fell silent for a long moment. Legolas swallowed, anxiety churning in his stomach. The king was not yelling, did not appear to be ready to throw him from the house (again). Instead, his father took a deep breath and said, “Legolas, I am sorry.”

“What,” Legolas said, too stunned to even make it a question. His father swallowed, his hands clenched into fists by his side.

“I am sorry for what I said to you, and for how I have acted. I… have acted foolishly for far too long. You are my son, and I love you. I have lost too much family and I do not want to lose you through my foolish actions.”

When Legolas did not move or speak, he continued, “I am sorry that I never talked about your mother. I was deeply grieved by her passing, which I know is not an excuse for ignoring my own child. I am sorry I did not even try to understand how you felt. I am sorry I was not accepting when you told me you were… homosexual. I am sorry for all of this and more. When I—after this morning, I realized how ignorant I have been and that I could not bear to lose you.”

Legolas stood stock still, not daring to blink.

“Dad, I…”

“What I am trying to say,” the king said, taking one step closer, “is that I finally see you, Legolas.”

Legolas could not move. It was all too much at once. He thought, dimly, that if he could make himself move, he might run for the door. He felt someone behind him—Tauriel had his back, just as she always had before. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him forward. That momentum was enough to break him free from his where he was frozen to the floor. He stumbled forward a step, took two more, and wrapped his arms around his father.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had hugged his dad. Somewhere along the line, hugs had turned into pats on the back, to awkward handshakes, then to stiff nods. Now, hugging him again, Legolas felt like a child again. His father hesitated only a moment before returning the hug. If it was possible for hugs to be rusty, he managed it.

Legolas was crying—of course he was. It seemed like he had done nothing else this week but cry. But he wasn’t alone now, because he could hear his father crying with him. After he had cried himself out, Legolas wiped his eyes and took a step back.

“I see you,” the king repeated, placing one hand on Legolas’ shoulder. Legolas resisted the urge to flinch away or push it off. This didn’t fix everything, of course. Both Legolas and Thranduil needed to work to mend the gap that had grown between them and such a bridge wouldn’t be built with one hug and an apology. But it was a good start, Legolas decided.

Thranduil stiffened suddenly, eyes fixed on something behind Legolas.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

Gimli stepped forward from where he had been standing in the doorway, clearing his throat.

“Your majesty. I am Gimli Durinson, from the kingdom of Erebor.” He bowed deeply from the waist, the correct bow from a lord to a king. He did not offer any more information. The king eyed him for a moment.

“And are you the one my son wishes to Match with?”

Gimli inclined his head. “Aye, that I am. And I, for my part, want to Match with him. Quite terribly, if I’m being honest.”

“I see,” Thranduil said, not sounding at all convinced. Then he cleared his throat, schooled his expression into something resembling pleasantry, and said, “Well, then. It is good to meet you, Gimli Durinson.”

They shook hands, Gimli smiling pleasantly. Legolas watched with growing disbelief. Tauriel hid her smile at his dumbfounded expression.

Thranduil nodded decisively. “If the two of you intend to declare a Match, it must be done before daybreak, does it not?”

“Well—yes, but we weren’t planning on going back to Matchmaker’s,” Legolas said, not sure what was happening.

“You must!” Thranduil said severely. At the stunned look on Legolas’ face, the king stood tall, setting his shoulders. “That was deal that was struck. You must find, and declare, your Match before the final night. And aside from our deal, the press and general public will be more likely to accept a pair such as yours if it officially declared.”

“Well, I guess,” Legolas stammered. “Wait, you’re okay with this?”

Thranduil sniffed importantly. “I am trying my best to be. But as you have pointed out, you are twenty-nine years old. If you say that he is your One, then I must trust that you know what you’re talking about.” He checked his watch. “It is still early. You and your… beau have enough time to prepare for the party.”

“I—okay,” Legolas said, beyond the point of being surprised at his father’s heel-face turn. Thranduil nodded at them and turned to go. Just before he left, Legolas said, “Thank you, Dad. This means… everything to me.”

“It’s been too long coming, my son,” Thranduil said, a touch of melancholy in his voice. He smiled wanly and closed the door behind him.

\--

They arrived at the Matchmaker’s just after midnight. Legolas was wearing the black suit and tie he’d been wearing the first night, and Gimli had forgone a suit coat for a button-up with rolled up sleeves, just as he had been the first night. Tauriel was wearing a dress for once, a plain black evening gown. (When Kili first saw her in it, Legolas thought his eyes would fall out of his head).

Hot and cold jolts of nervousness and anxiety shot through Legolas’ blood. Perhaps Gimli could tell, because just outside the gates, he pulled Legolas in for a quick kiss.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“Of course you will. It wouldn’t work without you,” Legolas joked. The smile slid off his face and he said quietly, “I’ll be alright. It’s the good kind of want-to-puke-my-guts-out. I promise.”

“Alright, then. When you’re ready, lad.”

Legolas took a deep breath, slipping his hand into Gimli’s. He let it out slowly, and walked through the gates.

The dance floor was packed, but Legolas kept hold of Gimli’s hand as they struggled through the crowd. Gimli hopped up on the DJ’s stage and Legolas followed, standing just behind him. The DJ turned down the music a minuscule amount and looked expectantly at them.

“We’d like to declare a Match!” Gimli shouted.

“What?” the DJ shouted back, cupping one hand around her ear.

Legolas repeated the request, louder, and her face lit up.

“Awesome!” she shouted. “Hold on a mo’.”

She did something with the two turntables and the laptop in front of her and the song ended abruptly. She brought the stage lights up, shining the spotlight on the two of them.

“Hey, everybody! Sorry to interrupt the party, but we’ve got a Match in the house!” she shouted into a microphone. The crowd cheered loudly. Legolas had stood cheering in that crowd for years as he watched Match after Match declare. He had never thought he’d ever be up here himself. He swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat—there was no way he had any tears left in his body after today, but he felt them well up anyway. He blinked them away as the DJ handed the microphone to Gimli.

“Introduce yourselves, dudes,” she said, smiling widely at them.

“Hello, I am Gimli Durinson, from Erebor. Good to meet you all,” Gimli said, smiling charmingly at the crowd. He handed the microphone to Legolas, squeezing his hand.

“And I’m Legolas Greenleaf,” Legolas said, voice steadier than he could have hoped. The DJ whistled, taking back the mic.

“The Legolas Greenleaf? As in, prince of Greenwood, Legolas?”

Legolas nodded and the crowd cheered louder.

“Well, all I’m saying is that I better be invited to the wedding,” she joked. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!”

She trotted over to an ornate lockbox tucked away in a corner of the stage. From it, she produced a pair of mithril rings.

At the beginning of the Matchmaker’s, each room was equipped with identical lockboxes, each filled with thousands upon thousands of mithril rings, the rarest metal in existence. They’d run out of originals by now of course, but any and all mithril found in the mines was given to the Matchmaker’s and a team of master jewelers had a full time job making rings identical to the originals. They acted as engagement rings, technically, but very few couples decided to replace them with other rings at the weddings proper. Mostly, people chose to adorn the simple bands with engravings, designs, or precious stones.

The DJ handed one ring to Legolas and the other to Gimli. It was another aspect of the Matchmaker’s magic that no one dared discuss—the rings pulled from the box always fit their recipients.

The crowd was silent with anticipation. Gimli went first. He took Legolas’ hand, his own shaking slightly. It was so quiet, they didn’t need the microphone anymore. Gimli’s voice rang out, strong and true.

“Legolas Greenleaf, when we met we were not strangers. I knew you before I knew myself, crafted as we were, together, by the Valar that gave us life. Through their grace and love, we found each other once again in their own house. It is in this house that I pledge my love and loyalty to you, for all of time. Legolas Greenleaf, you are my One and I shall have no other for as long as I live.”

He slid the ring on Legolas’ hand. The cool mithril warmed quickly against his skin. It looked for all the world like it belonged there, like it had been waiting to rest there on his finger since the beginning of time.

“Gimli Durinson, when we met we were not strangers….”

The words rolled from his tongue easily, though he had never spoken them before. Without meaning to over the years, he’d memorized the ceremony’s words. It felt almost surreal to have the words coming from his own mouth, directed to someone else. Someone who was going to spend the rest of his life with. Someone whom he loved. Someone who was made for him.

“…Gimli Durinson, you are my One and I shall have no other for as long as I live.”

He slid the ring on Gimli’s hand and kissed it. Gimli kissed his hand as well, and the DJ announced, “Gimli and Legolas, you are officially Matched in the eyes of the Valar. Congratulations!”

And Legolas kissed Gimli, his Match, his One, in front of a thousand people, without a trace of anxiety holding him back.

 

The End


End file.
